


If life is just a ride it should be fun

by LunaCanisLupus_22



Category: Eyewitness (US TV)
Genre: Basically, Internalized Homophobia, Introspection, Lukas fixes the bike, M/M, Missing Scene, Murder, Pining, Violence, all that jazz, and feels things, elements of ptsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 10:28:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8398048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunaCanisLupus_22/pseuds/LunaCanisLupus_22
Summary: Lukas fixes Philip's bike.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title is from [Air Is Free](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rQDTG-caCOs) by Johnossi. When I first watched the show I was like. Nah, I'm fine, I'm not obsessed. I'll resist writing fanfic about it because I have so many other fanfics to be writing...
> 
> And yet here we are. Oh well.
> 
> (This is kind of an imagined scene between episode one and two) knowing me I'll probably end up writing more fic for these two dorks. I'm tagging it as underage since it's been said Philip is sixteen and I'm assuming Lukas is around the same age.
> 
> Let me know what you think!

  
  


He’s bent over Philip’s bike, headphones blocking out the sounds of rushing air as he gradually pumps the tyre back up. Lukas doesn't get it, he's never not been able to get wherever he's needed to go on his own. But then again he's always had his motorbike. 

Maybe he is a spoiled rich kid. 

There’s a tug at his left ear and Lukas flinches, twisting around and dropping the pump, fists clenched and ready to swing. It's only his dad hovering over him and his raised eyebrow makes Lukas feel like an idiot for the reaction. 

He's not supposed to be so on edge. Not if he's pretending nothing happened.

“When did you get so jumpy?”

“Uh,” he starts, forcing a laugh that doesn't sound right. “Just- uh.”

His dad puts his hand on his shoulder, strong and gripping and he squeezes the muscle there. “I know what happened in the cabin was a shock-“

"What?" 

Lukas rips his headphones out and stands up, realising his hands are shaking. 

His heart is pounding so fast it feels like it's about to wear itself out. Panic colours the world in sharp, terrifying snatches of memory, drowning everything else. 

The men coming through the cabin door. The blood spattering the walls. The bare chested guy pointing the gun at Philip under the bed. The sound the pan made when he cracked it against his skull after. 

“But Helen’s on the case,” his father continues and Lukas comes back into reality, feeling like he’s fallen off the bike, mid jump and hit the dirt face first. 

His dad doesn’t know. He’s talking about the bodies. 

He doesn’t know about what happened. He doesn't know about Philip. 

“They’ll have the cabin cleared up soon. It won’t be a crime scene for long. I still don’t want you riding out there, though, you hear me?”

“Yeah dad,” he agrees just because it’s what's expected of him. “I won’t.”

They’ve been standing there too long. His dad is inspecting the bike behind him, realising he's not out here just to do his chores.

“Who’s bike is that?” he wonders, curious, because he knows it’s not one of theirs from the back shed that neither of them ever use.

Lukas wipes at his mouth as if there’s proof there, something for his dad to see. Some visible way to know what he’s done. He knows there isn't, but it feels like there should be. Like he's been permanently branded. 

He can't look him in the eye. Not knowing yesterday when his father was in Poughkeepsie, there was another guy in Lukas' bed and he'd unbuttoned his jeans and tried to get his pants off. Or that he'd been disappointed when Philip had left.

He should never have hit him like that. But he'd panicked. 

“Just- uh- just a kid from school,” he says, knowing that won’t be the last of it. 

Red Hook doesn’t have enough kids for Lukas to pretend he doesn’t know the name. And Bo Waldenbeck doesn't have the patience for anything but the truth.

“Which kid?” his dad asks, folding his arms and inspecting the tyre Lukas patched up.

He turns back to the bike, bends down to keep working on it because he knows he can’t keep the truth off his face, can’t keep the fear out of his eyes. 

Philip. Philip. Philip.

Lukas can still remember what his mouth tastes like.

“You know, Bryce.”

He untangles his headphones and sets them on the dirt before pumping the tyre again. He finishes and caps it off but his dad is still behind him, watching. He’s probably not doing it the way he’s supposed to be. His technique is never as good as his dad's.

“Bryce Harper? I thought he rode the bus?”

Lukas swallows, tries not to tense up. He glances at his own motorbike sitting in the far corner of the shed and has to push down the longing to get on it and just drive. No looking back.

“Yeah and he’ll have to keep doing it unless I fix this for him.”

It’s bullshit. They all know it. But his dad grips the base of his neck and gives him a gruff kind of nudge forward.

“You’re a good kid,” he says and Lukas stares at his feet, imagining they're barefoot for a second and covered in blood.

His dad didn’t raise him to be a liar.

“Thanks, dad,” he says, but the words feel like dirt in his mouth.

What would he say if he knew? Would he be disappointed that they didn't go to the cops straight away? That they covered it up? Would he be angry at the real reason they were at the cabin so late when those guys turned up? 

He doesn't know. He doesn't know what his dad would say about any of it. And he's not going to tell him. 

“Now you’d better get a move on with those signs. We need them for tomorrow for the turkeys.”

He glances at the cage behind them where the turkeys are moving around harmlessly, bumping into each other more than not. Innocent and helpless. 

Lukas’ jaw clenches. “Yeah, right. The turkeys. I’ll get it done, dad.”

“Good man,” he says and Lukas listens to his father’s footsteps when his heavy boots head back on up toward the house, leaving him alone again.

Fingers shaking, he scrabbles for his headphones and sticks them back into his ears, pressing play. Air is Free by Johnossi starts blasting in his ears and the overload of noises helps to calm him down.

He stands up once he’s finished and walks the bike out under the awning before propping it up against the shed. He’ll tell Philip he fixed it tomorrow if he comes back.

When he comes back.

Heat flushes in his body at the thought and he swallows heavily, remembering. He'd been so hard in the cabin, the way Philip had felt under him had been so hot and confusing and new. The unmistakeable bulge pressed against Lukas’ hip as he'd moved over him sits vividly in his memory. He can't mistake that for anything else. 

And he can't pretend that he didn't kiss Philip back. That he _wanted_ to. 

He wishes Philip hadn't stormed off yesterday when his dad wasn't home. He wishes Philip hadn't looked at him like that when he'd said nobody could know about any of it. The murders. The gun. The nakedness. The kissing.

He’s so distracted that he stubs his boot on one of the metal poles surrounding the cage, startling the turkeys. They're all riled up for a second at the loud noise while he curses and shakes his foot out, but they settle back down a few minutes later, watching him with interest. 

Lukas pushes his hair out of his face and moves over toward the work bench in order to get started on the signs.

This shouldn’t be happening. 

Any of it. But Lukas knows that when Philip comes back it’s not going to stop. None of it. He’s going to kiss him again. If Philip will let him.

The music pounds in his ears like it’s trying to block out every thought, silence every part of him that he didn't even know he'd hidden for so long. 

But it’s not working.

There are some things Lukas can’t block out.

  
  



End file.
